


a list of firsts

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a first time for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a list of firsts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaguarCello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarCello/gifts).



They saw each other for the first time on Enjolras’ first day at university. He was on the bus, on his way home after a very, very long day. It was late, he was carrying a bag full of books and one full of Chinese food, because when he got back to the flat he shared with Combeferre, he wouldn’t be there to cook anything for him and probably wouldn’t appreciate if Enjolras tried on his own and set the kitchen on fire in the process.

Enjolras hadn’t bothered sitting down, which he slowly but surely started to regret, because his feet didn’t feel like they were an actual part of his body anymore after an extended tour of the university, and multiple searches for classrooms and a place that sold coffee that actually _was_ coffee and not some horrendous watery substance that claimed to be.

He was about to move when he noticed that someone was looking at him. That someone was a guy with unruly dark curls and bright blue eyes that looked about as tired as Enjolras felt. They looked each other for a moment and the guy’s lips twitched into a smile, and Enjolras, despite himself, smiled back.

He got off the bus at the next stop and saw that he was looking at him again, but quickly averted his gaze when Enjolras caught him staring.

* * *

The first time they talked to each other was a couple of weeks before Christmas. They’d set up a table in front of the main building of the university and they were collecting signatures to get the university to introduce better programmes for financially challenged students.

It was freezing and Enjolras was doing his best not to just drop the pamphlets in his hand and run inside, because this was important, and neither Combeferre nor Courfeyrac had uttered a single word of complaint. Combeferre, however, had actually been wise enough to bring mittens and a scarf, whereas Enjolras didn’t even wear a jacket that would count as warm enough for this kind of weather. Courfeyrac seemed to be nothing but delighted and kept catching snowflakes with his tongue and warmed his fingers on his fifth cup of coffee. They’d tried to stop him because he’d been hyper enough already, but they’d failed and now it was just getting worse.

Enjolras tried not to be disheartened by the little amount of signatures they’d collected so far. He didn’t quite succeed.

Courfeyrac patted him on the back. “Maybe we should just come back tomorrow.”

“We can’t just leave now,” Enjolras muttered.

“Well, we’re not exactly...” He paused and waved at someone. “Grantaire, hey, come over here.”

Enjolras recognised him immediately. It was the guy he’d seen on the bus months ago, and Enjolras didn’t know why he even remembered him, but there he was, hurrying towards them, hands buried in the pockets of his coat, a dark green beanie tucked over his curls.

“You know him?” Enjolras asked.

“Yeah, sure, everyone knows Grantaire,” Courfeyrac said matter-of-factly, and threw a pamphlet at Grantaire’s face when he’d reached their table. “Give us your signature.”

“What for?” Grantaire asked, eyes now trained on Enjolras. “World peace?”

“We’re trying to-” Enjolras started, but was interrupted by Grantaire.

“Whatever it is, my signature won’t do much good,” he said as he signed his name on the sheet in front of Enjolras. “No need to give me a speech.”

“Why are you helping us, then?” Enjolras snapped.

* * *

Their first argument followed suit and lasted for what seemed like hours.

Combeferre politely asked them to move their discussion elsewhere, so they ended up a few feet away from the table, shouting at each other, completely ignoring the weird glances people shot them as they walked by.

At the end of it they’d gone from arguing about whether collecting signatures was useless to why the spot they’d picked for their table was unfavourable, as Grantaire had put it.

Many arguments followed, especially when they started meeting at the Musain once or twice a week, their group growing steadily.

Grantaire just kept showing up, kept proclaiming his opinions, kept driving Enjolras crazy.

* * *

The first time Enjolras set foot into Grantaire’s flat was after they’d finished their first exams. Courfeyrac had invited their whole group to his place to celebrate and afterwards Enjolras had stayed behind to help clean up.

Bossuet was sleeping in an arm chair with Joly in his lap, and Combeferre had fallen asleep before the party had properly started, so Bahorel and Grantaire had carried him into Courfeyrac’s bedroom, where he still was and where he’d probably stay until the morning. Everyone else had left with Feuilly, who’d promised to drop them all off at home.

Save for Grantaire, who’d previously been fast asleep on Courfeyrac’s sofa, but was now wide awake and insisting on walking home.

“Grantaire, just stay here,” Courfeyrac said and tried to get him to take off his shoes and jacket again.

“He’s right,” Enjolras chimed in, “Just sleep it off and go home tomorrow.”

Grantaire swayed a little and looked at him with blood-shot eyes. “Since when do you care,” he muttered as he stumbled out the door.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. Sure, he tended to forget himself when he argued with Grantaire, he said things he didn’t mean, but they were friends and he didn’t want him to fall asleep in some alleyway and freeze to death. Which was quite likely, given the state Grantaire was currently in. “I’ll make sure he makes it home,” he said to Courfeyrac and hurried after Grantaire.

He found him outside the door, sitting on the pavement, smoking a cigarette. Enjolras grabbed him by the arm and wordlessly yanked him to his feet. Grantaire, dropped the cigarette, staggered against him and Enjolras tried to steady him as best as he could.

They made it to Grantaire’s without any major incidences, Grantaire only tried to lie down on a bench once, he didn’t throw up on Enjolras’ shoes, and he was blessedly quiet for most of the walk. He also didn’t put up much of a fight when Enjolras stripped him off his jacket and his shoes and guided him to his bed.

He tucked Grantaire in and got him a glass of water, then he turned to leave.

“Don’ go ‘way,” Grantaire mumbled. “Please.”

And so Enjolras slept in the same bed as Grantaire for the first time.

* * *

The first time they held hands was when Grantaire tugged him out of a vicious crowd at a rally downtown, and Enjolras wouldn’t let go of him until they’d made it back to the Musain, where they’d met the rest of their friends.

* * *

They first kissed at a Christmas party at Grantaire and Jehan’s flat in their third year of university. Jehan had scattered mistletoes all over the place and there was one in the doorway, too, so when Grantaire ended up opening the door for Enjolras, Jehan only pointed to the mistletoe.

Enjolras didn’t even know why it felt like such a big deal to him, this was just Grantaire, so when Grantaire quickly pressed his lips against Enjolras’, he ignored the tingle in his stomach. It was nothing. Just Grantaire.

He didn’t know how he ended up back under that mistletoe a few hours later; he didn’t know how Grantaire ended up there with him. He didn’t care either. All he cared about was Grantaire’s lips on his, Grantaire’s fingers slowly creeping into his hair and down his back and under his shirt, where they stilled, keeping him close.

Combeferre found them there, in the dark, didn’t say a word about the dishevelled state he was in, only told Enjolras that it was time to go home.

He saw Grantaire again the next day at the Musain and it was the first time that Grantaire remained silent for the whole duration of a meeting.

* * *

They fell into bed together for the first time on a rainy night in April. It was just like their second kiss under the mistletoe, Enjolras hardly remembered how it had happened.

They’d been walking home from the Musain, bickering about one thing or another, and they’d stopped in front of Enjolras’ building, still arguing, until Enjolras had finally snapped. “Why do even keep coming to our meetings when you don’t give a shit anyway?”

Grantaire had stared up at him, incredulous, then he’s sighed. “Because you are there,” he’d said simply.

Enjolras hadn’t understood what it meant in that moment, and the only thing he’d seen were those blue eyes looking at him with so much sincerity, with so much faith, and Enjolras had pulled him into a kiss and Grantaire had kissed back eagerly.

He’d remembered Courfeyrac saying something about how the two of them should just get the sexual tension out of the way as they’d stumbled up the stairs and now they were tugging and tearing at each other’s clothes, Grantaire’s hands still roaming as if he was determined to touch every inch of Enjolras’ skin he could reach.

Grantaire had him pinned to the door and he kept him there, and Enjolras wanted to return the kisses and the touches and the little bites that made his mind go blank, but he contented himself with letting Grantaire take what he wanted, do what he wanted, because he loved it and he never ever wanted him to stop.

Grantaire worked open his jeans, excruciatingly slowly, then he dropped to his knees to mouth at Enjolras’ dick though his boxer briefs. Enjolras moaned loudly and his head fell back against the door, not even noticing when his fingers found their way into Grantaire’s hair. Grantaire continued his ministrations and Enjolras’ knees were starting to feel a little weak.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered, “Grantaire, let’s just... please... let’s...”

“Yes?” Grantaire didn’t sound nearly as breathless as Enjolras did and that was just unfair, so Enjolras pushed away from the door, kicked off his shoes and jeans, and made sure to rid Grantaire of his clothes on the way to his bedroom.

“So,” Grantaire said as he pushed Enjolras onto the bed, “you were asking for something?”

“I...” It seemed that Grantaire hadn’t just stripped him from most of his clothes but also from his ability to form proper sentences.

Grantaire didn’t wait for an answer, only got Enjolras out of his boxers and started sucking bruises into his skin and did so until Enjolras was writhing underneath him, first clutching at the sheets, then at Grantaire, trying to pull him closer.

“What do you want, Enjolras?” Grantaire mumbled, leaving a trail of kisses up his thigh, followed by a kiss to the head of his cock and all Enjolras could do was whine.

He could feel Grantaire smiling against his skin before he straddled his hips and bent down so they were face to face again. “Use,” Grantaire whispered and bit at his jaw line, “your,” he continued, tracing the outline of his ribs with his fingertips, “words,” he finished with a kiss placed on his nose.

“Please, just... do something,” Enjolras said, his hips bucking to meet Grantaire’s.

Grantaire hummed. “Something,” he echoed.

“Anything,” Enjolras corrected, “anything you want.”

Grantaire stared for a second, very much like he had before, as if he couldn’t believe this was happening, but Enjolras snapped him out of it by reaching over to open the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out lube and a condom, which he wordlessly handed to Grantaire.

Enjolras was soon at the mercy of Grantaire’s nimble fingers, opening him up at an excruciating pace. And Enjolras had never begged for anything in his life, he didn’t beg, he got what he wanted through different means, with persuasion and valid arguments, but now he was begging for more and Grantaire eventually complied.

Grantaire’s first thrusts were gentle, slow, and there was nothing left of the anger and the frustration Enjolras had felt earlier. There was the heat of Grantaire’s body so close to his, his eyes, looking so much brighter than they ever had before, his shallow breathing, and that was all Enjolras cared about. He pulled Grantaire down to capture his lips in a kiss, urging him on, even though he would have loved to draw this out forever.

He came with Grantaire’s name on his lips, his fingernails leaving long red lines on Grantaire’s back.

“Jesus fuck,” Grantaire groaned.

Enjolras would have agreed, hadn’t he been too exhausted to form words.

It seemed to take Grantaire a while to untangle himself from Enjolras and he didn’t exactly mind, to be honest, he wouldn’t have complained if Grantaire had decided to stay curled up next to him for a while, but Grantaire slipped out of his bed much too soon.

“I have to go,” Grantaire mumbled and pulled his boxers back on. “Let’s make this easier for both of us and forget this ever happened.”

And for the first time in his life Enjolras wasn’t fast enough with his answer. Grantaire was out the door before Enjolras could tell him that he really didn’t want to forget this. Not ever.

* * *

When Enjolras first realised that his feelings for Grantaire had developed into something he couldn’t quite explain, he tried to ignore it.

Grantaire had gone on a trip to Rome with Jehan, and his absence shouldn’t bother him as much as it did, but every day he waited for some annoying text from him that never came, he looked around the bus every time he got on, hoping he’d see him there, he found his gaze wandering back to the spot Grantaire usually sat in at meetings again and again.

He didn’t know why he missed Grantaire as much as he did, why he missed his snarky remarks, why he missed their arguments, why he missed Grantaire being _there_.

Because it was just Grantaire. And Grantaire was just a friend, no matter what had happened between them.

It’s what he kept telling himself. Every time Grantaire’s touches lingered for a second too long, every time his thoughts wandered back to that Christmas party, every time he saw Grantaire and his chest felt tight for some reason.

He looked at Grantaire’s empty seat again.

“You’re distracted,” Combeferre mumbled.

Enjolras shook his head.

“Their plane lands in about thirty minutes,” Courfeyrac said lowly. “Just in case you were interested,” he added when Enjolras shot him a confused look.

“I’m not,” Enjolras said decidedly.

“Whatever you say.”

Enjolras stared down at the statistics Combeferre was talking about. He didn’t hear a word he was saying.

“Thirty minutes?” he asked weakly.

Five minutes later he was on the way to Grantaire’s flat and for the first time in a long time he felt well and truly terrified.

* * *

The first time Enjolras told Grantaire he loved him, he whispered it against Grantaire’s skin in the middle of the night, when he thought Grantaire was fast asleep.

The darkness swallowed his words, but they were out there and Enjolras was quite proud of himself for saying them.

When he woke up the next morning, Grantaire had already left for work, but there was a cup of coffee on his bedside table, together with a post-it note that read _I love you, too_.


End file.
